


Wrong Step in the Right Direction

by firefright



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Decisions, Dick Kills the Joker, Eventual Relationships, Gen, Guilt, Lost Days!Jason, M/M, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: A moment of blind anger results in Nightwing breaking Batman's one rule, and wracked by guilt over both what he does and doesn't regret about his actions that night, Dick willingly chooses to serve out a prison sentence to atone for the deed. But not everyone agrees that jail is what he deserves in this situation, and after just three months of imprisonment, one of them decides to break Dick out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is another idea that jumped up and bit me out of the blue, then wouldn't let go until I actually sat down and wrote it. I've always enjoyed Joker's Last Laugh as an example of what happens when Dick gets pushed [over the edge](https://pm1.narvii.com/6526/64ee94fa443f374235637897a5d20d703d03ae04_hq.jpg), and what might have happened if Bruce then hadn't been able to resuscitate the Joker afterwards is a very interesting question. Particularly in regards to Jason, who was out there doing his Lost Days training at the time. Hope you all enjoy my attempt at answering it!

Days spent in captivity soon start to blend together, Dick discovers, only a few weeks into his imprisonment. A realisation coaxed in and helped along by what proves to be a never ending, and barely changing, routine. The majority of which is spent entirely within the same four walls.

He wakes, he eats, he exercises and reads. Rinse and repeat, over and over again. There's a television for him to watch a selected number of movies and TV shows on in the corner of his cell, but no internet. His only news comes from those who write to him, call him, and visit in the precious few hours each week he's allowed.

Not that Bruce, at least, ever pays attention to those prescribed visiting hours. He comes when he wants to, and for that Dick is mostly grateful, as he’s grateful for so many other things.

In comparison to most prisons, this place is gentle, light and calm. Justice League-run, and designed for those like Dick, heroes who went off the beaten track, and can’t just be placed in alongside the normal prison population.

If the world at large knew who he was and what he’d done…

Well, if the world at large knew what he’d done, Dick knows there’d be a whole host of people out there willing to throw him a parade. Maybe he’d even have been acquitted of the crime he’d committed by a biased jury, happy to be rid of the monster that plagued their city for so long. Certainly, there’d been arguments among the superhero community to that effect when the time came for his arrest, most passionately from his friends.

It was why Dick had to be the one to stand up and insist on this, insist on punishment for his wrongdoing. Because no matter who the victim was, no matter how blinded by anger he’d been at the time, he’d still committed a crime. He’d still… still _killed_ someone.

He has to be punished for that. He _has_ to be. It can’t be one rule for one person and a different rule for another. That’s not how justice works.

The look on Bruce’s face when Dick had said that to him in the aftermath had been heartbreaking, but underneath all the grief and anger, he’d known it, too. Otherwise he never would have agreed to this. He never would have let Dick be locked away for a crime so many had tried to excuse him for, regardless of his inarguable guilt. It hurts every time they have to look at each other and speak across the impersonal space of a cold bolted down table, but they do it. They have to. It’s the only way for their view of the world to continue to work.

The only way for Dick to be able to continue to live with what he’d done.

So he has his routine. He works through it. Past the nightmares, past the flashbacks, and the words _His name was Jason, wasn’t it?_ ringing in his ears, alongside hideous laughter, over and over. He focuses on the fact that his remaining family is alive. That _Tim_ is alive, despite what the Joker said, and not his own self-hatred that he let himself be so cruelly manipulated into giving the maniac what he wanted in the end.

He has his routine, and with it, he knows he’ll survive the coming years of his imprisonment, and walk out again only when he feels that he is really entitled to it.

Which is why, only three months into his sentence, Dick is taken so completely by surprise when the back wall of his cell suddenly explodes inwards.

The blast throws him from his bed towards the door, and as dust swirls in the air, Dick finds himself coughing hard and trying to blink clear his vision before old battle instincts can kick in and send him skittering back up to his feet. He manages to get his feet planted into a ready stance and his fists raised ready to fight by the time a shadowy figure looms through the resultant gloom, only to grow rapidly smaller the closer it gets.

“Who are you?!” he shouts, uncomfortably aware of how shaky and uncertain his voice sounds.

This is unexpected, and he doesn’t much like the unexpected. At least not in this situation, where everything’s supposed to be so predictable and planned out. Is this an enemy? A misguided friend? He doesn’t know, and until someone provides Dick with the answer he has no idea how he’s supposed to proceed with it.

“Shut up,” the figure says, voice surprisingly young, with an odd unfamiliar-familiar ring to it that sets Dick’s head spinning more than the explosives did. “Come on, we gotta get out of here before they figure out what I did to the alarms.”

A hand is extended towards him, covered in in black leather except for the fingers, and Dick stares at it for a long moment before shaking his head. “I can’t.”

The figure stares at him, and as the smoke and dust clears Dick gets the impression of a teenager, long and lean in build — probably still growing. He’s wearing a dark jacket with a hood, as well as what looks like a red bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his face. “Sure you can,” he says, jerking a thumb back at the now gaping hole behind him, “I just blew open the wall.”

“No, I mean…” Dick takes a step closer to the door at the front of the cell. No alarms. This kid really did do something to them, which means that (whoever he is), he’s good at this. He’d have to be. Bruce created the security protocols for this prison himself, no amateur could possibly stand a chance at disabling them. “I have to stay.”

The kid stiffens. “Why?” he asks now, voice low and all the more dangerous, “Because _he_ told you to? Screw that, I ain’t letting them lock you up like some criminal for doing the right thing.”

Dick wishes he could understand what it is about the boy’s voice that seems so familiar. Why it’s rattling around his brain like a loose tin can. The closer he gets, the more he can make out about him. No emblem emblazons his chest or any other part of his body — his clothes are the kind that could be picked up in almost any department store in America, but his eyes are almost entirely blue over the top of the scarf concealing his face. That is, except for where they’re flecked by an oddly preternatural shade of green.

“C’mon, Dickface,” the kid says next, hand held back out towards him now, “Don’t just stand there. We gotta blow this joint before the fuzz comes.”

Something jolts. A bolt of lightning ripples across his brain. Dick can feel every crevice of his mouth push against his tongue as it goes dry. There are words lodged in his throat, spoken in another’s voice, yet he can still clearly hear them.

_His name was Jason, wasn’t it?_

“Dick!” the kid demands, and Dick can feel his head jerk in a sudden nod even as he reaches over to take the hand offered to him.

“Yeah,” he mutters, shaken to his core, “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a boat waiting for them. Then a bike. Then a plane.

Dick doesn’t say much during the transition from one mode of transport to another, just watches the boy who broke him out. The way he moves, the way he talks. The concealing scarf hasn’t come off his face yet, and no name has been given. Dick itches to see both situations rectified more with every passing second.

“Where are we going?” he asks instead, once the plane is in the air and they’re flying towards parts unknown. The kid had jumped up from his seat as soon as the seatbelt light went off, and is now pacing up and down the narrow walkway between the seats.

“Away,” he answers elusively, then more bitterly adds, “From the prison, from Gotham. From anyone like them.”

Gotham… Another pang of guilt hits Dick. Bruce will be disappointed in him for going along with this. At least he knows that he — and surely most everyone else — will understand that Dick wouldn’t have run away willingly without good reason. He only hopes they don’t assume that he’s been kidnapped; taken from his cell by someone who only means him harm and nothing else.

“That’s vague.” Dick offers a lopsided smile as he fumbles open his own seatbelt. So many drastic new surroundings after being confined for so long has left him feeling disorientated, not to mention this kid, with the unfamiliar-familiar voice and striking eyes. “Can I get anything more specific?”

“You’ll find out in a few more hours.”

Not quite what he meant. Dick rubs a thumbnail over his pant leg, dislodging some of the dirt that had gotten caked into the creases during their escape. “Why are you doing this?”

The kid freezes mid-step, then whirls on him with all the fury of a tornado. “I told you,” he says, bitingly, “I’m not letting them lock you up for the rest of your life when you’ve done nothing wrong. Hell, when you did the world a goddamn _favour._ ”

_But I asked them to do it_ , Dick thinks but doesn’t say. He demanded the sentence, because he couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t in some way punished. But if he tells — tells this kid that…

You never forget how it feels to teeter on the edge of the high wire, fighting for balance as the wind threatens to rip you down.

“I murdered someone,” he points out, “They had to.”

“You killed a monster! One that should have been put down a long time ago by someone else, not you!”

Dick hopes the door to the cockpit is soundproofed. He doesn’t want whatever pilots have been hired for this overhearing their conversation, even if those men probably aren’t on the straight and narrow themselves.

“I don’t think anyone’s been arguing that,” Dick points out, uncomfortably. “But I…” he looks down at his hands. Flexes them. He feels naked in this situation outside of the suit. He wants kevlar and titanium weave around him suddenly; every bit of security that comes naturally to him when he’s wearing the Nightwing persona.

Nightwing could handle this, he thinks. Dick Grayson on the other hand…

“But nothing.” the kid shakes his head, “You did the world a solid. That’s all that matters here. It’s the only thing that matters period.”

Dick watches him drop back down into the seat opposite his own. Every inch of the pose is sullen teenager; legs draped apart and arms folded in tight over his stomach. Familiar-unfamiliar, eating at Dick’s heart.

“Can I see your face?” he asks after a moment, pushing at the wall between them. Terrible knowledge with its confirmation waiting behind a thin membrane of red cotton.

Somehow the tension in the kid’s shoulders grows even tighter. “You don’t want to see my face.”

“Of course I do.” Dick forces himself to say more gently, though part of him wants to order it. _Demand_ it. “You got me out of there, that means we’re in this together now.”

That gets a spark of reaction. Over the top of the scarf, the kid’s eyes dart away from him. “You won’t like it.”

“I think that’s up to me to decide,” he replies with a shaky smile, “C’mon. Please?”

Seconds tick by. A minute. Dick can feel his foot tapping on the floor, nervous energy rising off him like steam. He needs it. Needs to know if that niggling suspicion that first hit him in his cell is really somehow, impossibly, true.

“Fine.” the kid says eventually, still not quite looking Dick’s way. “Just don’t… don’t faint or nothin’, okay? Your ass is too fat to carry.”

“I’ll try.” Dick says, though now even the pretense of levity has evaporated from his voice.

The hood gets pulled down first. There’s a head of black hair underneath, thick and curling, but oddly marred by a single blaze of white at the front. Then the kid’s thin fingers hook into the edge of the bandanna, yanking it off his face, and all at once it feels like Dick’s soul has left his body. He’s floating, free and untethered, in a world where the solid realities he’d taken as a foundation for how he lived his life have now been turned on their head.

“Oh God…” he whispers, staring at features he knows painfully well, though they’ve been stretched and changed over the years their owner was never supposed to have, “ _Jason_.”

“Hey, Dickie,” his dead little brother replies, with a smile that’s painful to witness, “Surprise.”

Dick doesn’t faint, but in that moment, it feels like a very near thing.

 

* * *

 

Jason gets him a bottle of water. It’s ice cold from being stored in the mini-fridge at the back of plane, and before he takes a drink from it Dick has to press the bottle against his forehead, letting the temperature work to numb away some of the headache he has forming.

“I told you you wouldn’t want to see me.” Jason says.

“How?” Dick asks, staring at the dead-not-dead boy in front of him, “How are you...?”

Jason looks away from him, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” he exclaims, “Bruce told me you were dead, Jay! I saw your gravestone. Was—was it just a fake? A ruse? If so, why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“It wasn’t a ruse.” Jason’s jaw clenches.

“Then how—”

“I was dead, now I’m not.” his little brother snaps back at him, though continues to keep his eyes averted, “That’s all there is to it.”

“That can’t be all there is to it,” Dick argues, grasping for some sort of reason he can understand in the midst of this madness. “Where have you been all this time? When did you… you know, come back?” He swallows thickly, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“Home?” Jason’s voice is suddenly low and dangerous, “What home, Dick?”

“ _Home_ ,” he barrels on, hearing the unspoken warning but not heeding it. “Bruce, Alfred; the manor.”

Jason face twists. The curl of his mouth mean and ugly, his lips pulled back slightly over his teeth as his brows come together to form a thunderous expression.

“That was never my home,” he answers coldly, “Just a pretty lie Bruce told me.”

“A lie?” Dick repeats, not understanding, “What do you mean a lie? Jason, Bruce _loves_ you, if he knew you were alive—”

“If he knew I was alive, it wouldn’t change anything, Dick. You and I would still be here, and I still wouldn’t be going back there.”

“I don’t understand,” Dick says, staring helplessly at him.

“You’re not meant to,” Jason’s eyes harden as he finally looks back at Dick, “Just be grateful I got you out.”

Dick laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it.

“You come back from the dead, break me out of jail, then pull me onto a plane bound for who knows where, and you just expect me to be _okay_ with you refusing to answer any of my questions, Jay?” he shakes his head, “No. Hell no, I am not okay with that. I need you to talk to me, Jay. Give me _something_ , anything!” Dick licks his lips, “Please.”

Jason stares at him. Taken aback, it seems, by his sudden outburst. But after a moment, he sighs, shaking his head.

“Fine. You get one question, Dickface. Just one that I’ll answer for now, so you better pick wisely.”

Just one? Dick resists the urge to pout like a child at Jason’s continued resistance. Of course, he always remembers him as being obstinate, stubborn; ready to dig his heels in over almost anything at the drop of a hat.

It annoyed the fuck out of him the few times they met before, Dick remembers, and despite Jason being back alive in front of him, feels a familiar pang of guilt over the memory.

He never was fair to him back then. Never.

“How are you alive?” he asks, because while the reason why Jason’s angry with Bruce feels like the more pressing question, this is the one Dick in his gut wants to know the most.

“Damn,” Jason replies, “I feel like you’re going to regret choosing that one.”

“Why?”

“Because it has a simple answer,” Jason slides back down in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest, “I don’t know.”

Dick hears the words, but doesn’t understand them. “You don’t know,” he repeats, “How can you not know?”

“Easy,” Jason says, “I don’t. Just one minute I was dead, then I wasn’t. I remember what happened,with the… the Joker, and my…” Dick hears the way his voice trembles for a moment, but doesn’t remark upon it. “After that, though, I just remember waking up. Not knowing where I was or why.”

“You woke up?” Dick prompts softly.

Jason sinks deeper into his seat, again keeping his attention on the clouds outside. “Yeah, in my grave.”

The blood drains out of Dick’s face, down his shoulders, his chest and his legs to congeal in his feet. He feels brittle, made out of papier-mâché suddenly, as for a bleak, terrifying second he considers it. The narrow, shallow length of the coffin, and all the terrible weight of the earth above.

To wake up to that, after your last memory was that of your own murder...

“Christ, Jason, I’m so sorry.” he whispers, heart aching.

Jason just shakes his head, body twisting away from him. “What’s done is done,” he says thickly, “And you have your one answer. Now, think you can shut up and be quiet for the rest of the flight?”

Shutting up is the last thing Dick wants to do, not when there’s still so much more he needs to know. But he’ll take what he has for now; it’s already almost more than he can bring himself to digest.

“Sure, Jay, I’ll be quiet.”

Jason doesn’t look back at him, and doesn’t say anything more either. After another minute or two, Dick sighs and settles back in his seat, before picking up the water again to take another long sip and press the bottle against his aching forehead.

 

* * *

 

A further two hours pass before the plane lands. Two hours in which he still doesn’t see either head or hair of the pilot, or any other human being. It’s just him, him and Jason, sitting in silence, while the plane’s engines hum in the background and the occasional bout of turbulence rumbles the cabin.

Dick thinks Jason sleeps through at least part of it. Or maybe just pretends to. It’s hard for him to say, given how his observation skills aren’t up to their usual level of awareness. He’s too shaken, too upset and cautiously joyful all at once to truly pay attention to what Jason’s doing. Yet at the same time, Jason’s the one thing he can’t look away from.

He’s grown. Of course he’s grown. Taller and broader, with his hair worn longer than it ever was before. Dick had noticed all that earlier, yet he hadn’t really taken it in. Only now, sat in stubborn silence, does he truly observe the ways in which Jason has changed from the way he was before. No longer a boy, but a blossoming young man.

It’s alien. It’s disarming. _Disheartening_ , to realise all that he — they — have missed. For Jason to have crawled out of his own grave at some point without anyone noticing…

Lifting his thumb to his mouth, Dick bites down on the nail, chewing it. It’s unthinkable. They’re detectives for chrissakes, the greatest in the world. And yet, somehow, they’ve missed the revival of one of their own for what must have been years.

Bruce would have a heart attack if he knew, and thinking about Bruce in any capacity only serves to send Dick into another downward spiral. What he must be thinking of him right now…

It’s cold as they disembark, and clad only in the light t-shirt and pants he was wearing in his prison cell, Dick shivers at the first blast of wind that hits him.

“Where are we?” he asks, breaking the ‘no further questions’ rule without a thought as he looks around the mostly deserted airfield they’ve landed in.

Thankfully, as Dick predicted it might, the time since they last spoke has been enough to cool down Jason’s ardour on that front.

“Canada,” he answers easily, “New Brunswick. We’ll be staying here overnight, before catching another flight out in the morning.”

New Brunswick? Jason was serious about getting far away from Gotham, then. “Out to where?”

“Europe, England, most likely. I was supposed to be going there before…” Jason catches himself before he can go any further, shooting a quick furtive glance at Dick, “... it doesn’t matter. Point is, we’re going.”

“I’m not arguing.” Dick answers, raising his empty hands to prove it, “Though…” he shivers again, “If we don’t get inside somewhere warm soon I might have to change my mind about that.”

Jason blinks, then seems to take in his appearance all over again. Soon enough, the harsh expression on his face softens.

“You baby,” he mutters, before jerking his head towards a nearby building on the edge of the airfield, “C’mon, quicker we get inside the quicker you can get warmed up.”

He starts walking, and without hesitation Dick follows, jogging a little to catch up at first before matching the length of their strides. It’s staggering to realise they’re about the same height now, judging by how easy that is to do, and with Jason likely still growing… Dick sucks on his lip to think how tall he might eventually become.

The building is more of a small lodge than a proper airport terminal when they get to it, which makes sense, Dick thinks, for how off the grid they appear to be. A fire is already crackling in the hearth, and with a grateful moan he steps forward, throwing out his stiffened hands towards it.

“Christ,” Jason says, “You act like you ain’t never felt cold weather before in your life.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t have time to change before you brought me out here,” Dick sticks his tongue out at him, “At least my cell had central heating.”

“It also had bars, and a steel door,” Jason shoots back, pointedly, as if Dick might have forgotten, “Before you go getting all high and mighty on me, your highness.”

It’s still not worth pointing out to Jason yet that he actually chose the cell himself over freedom, so Dick stays tight lipped about it. At least for now. Eventually, the truth will have to come out, but he wants to know more what about what it is Jason’s planning, as well as where he’s been all this time, before that happens.

The more he understands, the more chance he’ll have of convincing Jason to come home again.

“I’m not complaining,” he answers to that end, gritting his teeth, “I’m just saying, I would appreciate a change of clothes, at least, if you have them.”

Jason sucks his teeth a minute, before nodding. “Fine, since you asked so nicely.” he jerks his head towards the stairs leading up to the second floor, “My case is in one of the bedrooms, should have some stuff to fit you. You can also grab a shower, if you like.”

“The clothes’ll do for now, but thanks.”

Dick gets to the bottom of the stairs before pausing and casting a quick glance back at Jason, who is now watching the fire. It’s silly, maybe, but for a moment, he’s actually afraid to lose sight of him. As if by breaking eye-contact with Jason, he’ll be casting him back into the grave. Silly perhaps, since this has gone on long enough now that Dick has completely lost any illusions that his reappearance in the land of the living could be a dream, but he can’t help it.

All he can do is watch Jason stare into the fire for a good minute, remind himself to breathe, then finally head upstairs.

He finds Jason’s case in the first room he comes across, though case is hardly the word for it. It’s more of a large duffle bag, stuffed to the brim with belongings, and Dick wrinkles his nose a little as he empties it out onto the bed, searching for some reasonably clean clothes to put on. As it turns out, his choice is between one plain black t-shirt or another, as well as a single pair of jeans that hang loose on his hips when he slips them on. But at least there’s a sweater he can wear, and the added warmth across his arms and chest makes all the difference.

Then, knowing he shouldn’t, he starts to look through the rest of Jason’s possessions as well.

There’s not much. A bit of money — dollars, pounds and euros, most curiously — as well as a couple of books. One a collection of fairy tales written in German (which at least gives Dick a bit more of a clue as to where his erstwhile little brother has been before now), the other a ratty copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , obviously pre-owned, judging by the way it’s been written on in pencil by a childish hand at the back.

Alfred always did say Jason loved to read.

Curiosity at least sated, if not satisfied, for now, Dick carefully places everything back in the bag and turns to head back downstairs. But before he can make it down the first step, he’s once more drawn to a halt. This time by the sound of Jason’s voice, speaking to someone, he thinks, over the telephone.

Habit guides him to crouch down by the top of the stairs, breath held carefully shallow in his chest as he listens.

“You don’t understand,” Jason is saying to the person on the other end, voice low and defensive, “I had to do it. I _had_ to. There was no other way, I couldn’t just leave him there to rot. _Yes_ , of course I know it was risky, but that’s not the point! He did what no one else would do, what _Bruce_ didn’t do! The right thing, he doesn’t deserve to be punished for that, he doesn’t—” Jason cuts off for a few seconds, and when he continues, he’s sullen and almost resentful, “No, of course I’m not just giving up on my plans. Bruce still needs to know he was wrong, still needs to suffer. This doesn’t change any of that.”

Suffer? The word catches at Dick’s heart, tears a hole in it, and makes a nest there. He can barely breathe again as he tries to parse out what that means; the form Jason’s ascribed punishment could take.

_Just what have you been up to, little wing?_

“... losing Nightwing will make it worse, you’ll see.” Dick’s dragged back to the present as Jason continues to talk, “Especially when I confront him on why.” Footsteps echo as Jason paces back and forth downstairs. Then, suddenly, the conversation seems to be over. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll talk to you again when we’re in England. Night, Talia.”

And with that name, the hole tears itself even bigger.

_Talia,_ Jason’s working with Talia. God, what is he thinking? What exactly is going on here? The words spin around his head for a minute. Even just the half of the talk he heard is enough to make Dick want to throw himself down the stairs, seize Jason by the shoulders, and demand answers to all his questions.

What Bruce didn’t do. What Dick _did_. And subsequently, what Bruce needs to suffer for. It all comes back to the Joker, and for whatever reason, Talia’s also involved. Pulling Jason’s strings, whether he realises it or not.

A further thirty seconds pass while Dick works to rein himself back in from that impulse. He keeps one hand braced against the wall, and puts all his focus into breathing, slow and steady, until the white heat fades from his brain and his heart starts to hurt a little less.

He needs to play this smart. Jason’s clearly volatile as it is, and if Dick lets his own temper get the better of him, things will only get messier. He needs to stay calm, reach out to Jason in a way that doesn’t make him feel attacked. He needs to let him know that Dick is on his side, even if he doesn’t actually agree with what he’s doing.

And so, with that in mind, Dick pushes himself back up to his feet, takes a few steps back along the landing, then walks forward again, making sure to let himself be heard this time as he comes down the stairs.

“There you are,” Jason says, evidently having had enough time to regain his equilibrium, too. “Was starting to think you got lost up there.”

“Nah,” Dick answers, “Just needed a minute to myself, that’s all. Today’s been…” he pauses, “It’s been kind of a lot, actually.”

“I bet,” Jason watches him for a moment, expression pinched tight in places as he clutches the fingers of his left hand against his pants. The right is still holding the phone, though Dick pretends not to notice that. “The little brother you never wanted rising from the dead to break you out of super jail, that would knock anyone back.”

“Jason,” he replies, startled, “Don’t say that, of course I wanted—”

“You hungry?” Jason asks him, unwilling to hear Dick try and lie about his teenage apathy right now, it seems, “Place should be fully stocked, if the guys I paid did their job right.”

Dick bites his lip before nodding, not daring to say anything more just yet.

“Okay then, go park your ass in front of the fire since you’re so cold all of a sudden; I’ll make us something to eat.”

“You can cook?” Dick asks, the statement enough to loosen his tongue again.

Jason rolls his eyes, “Yes, Dickface, I can cook. Not all of us grew up being waited on hand and foot all the time, y’know.”

“I know, I grew up in a circus tent.”

It comes out a little sharper than he means it to, truth be told, but Dick has never liked having his status as Bruce Wayne’s ward thrown at him as if that’s all he is or ever was. Surely Jason can identify with that, too, even if they have little else in common.

Indeed, the words actually seem to catch him off guard, though for a moment he still looks like he wants to retaliate.

“Fine,” he says, turning away from him, “Hope you like spam sandwiches.”

“Spam sandwiches?” Dick blurts, aghast before Jason looks back over his shoulder with wicked smirk.

“Just kidding, I don’t even know if we have spam.”

“Not funny, Jason, not funny at all.”

Jason leaves for the kitchen, and so Dick does as he’s been advised, going to one of the chairs near the fire and sitting down. The sudden proximity of heat sets his skin to prickling, and as he looks into the flames he has plenty of time to think.

Bruce and the rest of the League have to be out looking for them by now. If he yells loud enough, Dick is certain Clark would hear him. Or maybe if he tried hard enough he could get the phone from Jason. A few years may have passed, but he’s pretty sure he could still take the kid in a fight. Except neither of those paths are the way he wants to play this. Neither will bring Jason home the way he needs, only build in further resentment and break the tenuous connection Dick’s accidental killing of the Joker has given them.

Accidental...

For a moment, Dick can hear the laughter in his ears again, high pitched and cackling. He can see the red in his vision, drowning everything else out. Worst of all, there’s the echo of the fury in his chest; the sheer, furious desire to shut the maniac up for good. To stop him from taking the people he loved from him, one way or another.

There had been so much blood on his gloves by the time Bruce pulled him back…

“Dick?”

He looks up to see Jason standing next to him, holding a steaming plate of what looks like spaghetti, cheese and sauce. The smell of the food makes Dick’s stomach curdle, as does the bright red colour from the tomatoes.

Jason seems to sense it, and puts the plate down on the nearby coffee table instead. “You okay, dude?” he asks, brow starting to bend with concern, “You don’t look so good.”

Dick can’t answer him, at least at first. He hears the Joker’s voice again, whispering, _C’mon, I hit Jason harder than that,_ over and over again like a mantra _._ All at once, his skin goes cold and clammy despite the roaring fire, and it’s only Jason’s hands suddenly closing over his own that brings him back.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Jason says, crouching down in front of him. He looks pale, too, though Dick suspects not for the same reasons. “It’s okay, big bird. Whatever’s on your mind right now, it ain’t here.”

“I can’t…” Dick tries to say, but his tongue, thick heavy thing that is, trips over in his mouth, chopping the words up into unintelligible syllables. Instead, he returns the grip Jason has on his hands, tightens it, until it hurts.

“Dick,” Jason tries again, wincing a little but not pulling away, “Dick, c’mon…”

“He said your name!” he blurts out suddenly, tongue unlocking itself all at once, “The Joker, when I… he knew your name.”

Jason stiffens, and any remaining blood seems to drain from his face. “Yeah,” he says quietly, after a moment, “He would’ve.”

“How?” Dick croaks, because he’s never had an answer for it. Never thought to even ask for one before now.

“Because of my mom,” Jason looks away for a moment, towards the fire. “My birth mom. Whole reason we ended up in Ethiopia in the first place was because I went looking for her. Turns out I shouldn’t have bothered, though. She was a real piece of work; embezzling funds from the charity she worked for and giving Joker a cut. It was bad luck he came calling for her when we were there. Bad luck I thought he was just there to hurt her, and tried to go to the rescue.”

“She sold you out?” he whispers, filling in the blanks.

“She sold me out,” Jason confirms, sucking his teeth, before looking back at him, “But it doesn’t matter now, they’re both dead. They’re both dead, Dickie bird, and we’re here.”

“Jason, I’m so sor—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Jason snaps at him, resisting his compassion, then more softly, “Don’t. It’s all worked out in the end. You did a good thing, Dick. You did. You got rid of that monster, and all the world’s better for it.”

“I never wanted to kill anybody.” _I never meant to kill him_.

“Neither did I,” is Jason’s answer, “But I have. I did.” Dick stares at him in shock as he continues, “You and me, Dick, we’ve both done what’s needed to be done. We’ve both taken of scumbags who didn’t deserve to be here, done what Bruce never could. People are safer now, alive, because of you.”

“I let him win,” Dick says, and to that Jason shakes his head.

“No, you didn’t. He won every time Bruce took him back to Arkham. He won every time he broke back out again and took more innocent lives. Think of all the people you’ve saved by stopping that cycle, Dick. That’s what I do.”

“Jason,” he whispers, “How many have you…”

“Enough,” Jason says, “And I’ve never lost a wink of sleep over any of them. You shouldn’t either.” He squeezes Dick’s hands tighter, “And whatever guilt you feel now, inside you know that monster doesn’t deserve it. You _know_ that, Dick. All the men, women and children he murdered, what he did to Barbara, and… and me.” His eyes burn into Dick’s own, feverishly bright in the firelight, “He deserved it.”

The worst thing is, no one would argue that. Dick can’t argue that. Maybe even Bruce wouldn’t, if he were here. The Joker deserved death, but it’s the act of having committed it Dick has qualms about, as if he was in any kind of position to be judge, jury and executioner.

He hadn’t the right, no matter how much the Joker took from him over the years. From all of them.

He hadn’t.

“I know what you’re really scared of,” Jason says to him, “Bruce’s judgement, what he thinks of you now you did that. But he doesn’t understand, Dick. He’s never been able to. I do, though. I understand. That’s why I came for you. That’s why I got you out of there, and now together, you and me, we can keep on doing what needs to be done. We can be _better_ than him.”

_Oh Jason_ , he thinks, heart sinking further, now just a shell of itself from the despair eating away inside of him, _You don’t understand at all_.

But Dick on the other hand? Dick understands now, in the worst kind of epiphany, that he may be in way over his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, welcome to a new chapter in which Dick and Jason continue to walk on eggshells around each other, as well as fail to talk properly about the important things.

The spaghetti ends up going cold, and after Dick’s recovered enough to regain some of his appetite, Jason makes them grilled cheese instead.

The time, Dick follows him into the kitchen, and picks at his sandwich there while Jason makes his own. He really isn’t half-bad at cooking, he thinks, and watching that is much easier than talking right now.

_We can be better than him._

Dick wishes he’d had better words to say then. Wishes he could have thought at all in the moment, to break down Jason’s assertions in a way that wouldn’t alienate him. But he hadn’t been able to. All he’d done was get caught in the cold reality of what Jason had to say. The details of his life between now and resurrection that he’d let slip, underneath the assumption that Dick was on his side.

Jason died because his mother betrayed him. Jason has killed people, and rescued Dick because he believed had felt the same way as him: that it was right to do so under certain circumstances, when the person in question was inarguably a monster.

But it wasn’t true. Isn’t true. Dick can’t agree, and the way Jason had spoken about it, with such calculation and forethought…

How the hell is he supposed to turn that around?

Maybe he should call for Clark, he thinks. Maybe he actually can’t handle this alone. Especially if Jason wants them to work together. What exactly would that even involve? And how fast will Jason be expecting it? When they get to England? Before?

Dick can feel a headache coming on, the more he considers it.

“We’ll be flying out in the morning,” Jason says, biting into his sandwich with gusto, now that he’s finished grilling it, “Shouldn’t be more than seven hours, then, until we land, depending on conditions.”

“And then what?” he asks, nibbling on a piece of crust more for something to do than any actual hunger, “Why England?”

“There’s a guy I was supposed to meet there,” Jason answers, “Before I went to rescue you. Demolitions expert, he’s going to teach me about bombs.”

“You already know about bombs, Bruce taught us—”

“To defuse them, not make them. That’s the difference, Dickie.”

Dick stares at him, “Why do you need to know how to make bombs?”

Jason sucks grease from his fingers, “It’s a skill, isn’t it? Never know when any knowledge might come in handy. I want to know as much as I can about anything, before I really get started.”

“Fighting crime?” he asks weakly, hopefully.

“Being a better Batman,” Jason replies. Whereas Dick has faded, he seems to have come alive since their earlier conversation. “I’m going to protect Gotham. Really protect it, better than he ever could.” And his eyes, still bright, still shining, focus on him once more, “You can come learn it, too, now you’re with me. He won’t question it, not with how well he’s being paid.”

There’s a glass of water in front of him, and Dick takes a long sip from it before saying, “About that. Not to pry or anything but… Jay, how exactly are you paying for any of this? How did you get the plane, the equipment to break me out?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jason sobers a little at the question, “I got help, from a private investor.”

“A private investor?” Dick repeats, playing dumb and hoping to get Jason to admit the truth himself.

“Yeah, one who believes in what I’m doing as much as I do.” He tilts his head, “You don’t have to be so jumpy about everything, Dick. You’re safe now, and I know what I’m doing.”

 _No, I really don’t think you do_.

“If you really want us to be in this together, you’re going to need to tell me at some point, Jason,” he carefully says. “I trust you, but I need to know exactly what it is you’re wanting me to get involved with first.”

Irritation flickers as fast across Jason’s face as does the small flush of pleasure he gets from hearing Dick say he trusts him. Dick didn’t mean for it to be that way — certainly not a manipulation — but he can’t argue with the results as Jason slowly nods in response.

“I know, and I will… I will tell you, but later. When we’re in England.”

Damn it, Dick thinks, but doesn’t show. “Okay,” is all he says, before pushing his half-eaten sandwich away from him. The yawn he emits next is quite real, “God, I’m beat. Today’s the most… anything, I’ve done for a while.”

“I can imagine,” Jason says, souring back again for a moment, “Other bedroom’s opposite of mine, if you didn’t already see it. I’ll wake you again when we’re ready to go.”

“Sure thing, Jay,” he pushes away from the counter, then hesitates, “Jay…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad… I’m glad you’re back,” Dick says, “And this time I’m going to do it right, okay? Between you and me, I’m going to do it right.”

Jason’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a new flush of colour to his cheeks as he looks away from him, “Go to bed, Dickface.”

“Good night to you, too, Jay.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t dream that night. At least not in any form he can remember. Dick supposes he must have gotten all his nightmares for the day out during his panic attack by the fire, and that’s probably better than having them alone. Even if he does still wish that the following conversation he’d had with Jason could have gone any one of a hundred different ways.

He wakes up to grey morning light filtering through the curtains, and Jason’s hand gingerly shaking him by the shoulder.

“Didn’t want to be too hard about it,” he explains later, “In case, y’know…”

In case hardened battle instincts brought him out fighting. Dick doesn’t need him to explain it, but nods along all the same.

He cleans his teeth with a new toothbrush, and finally does take the shower that was offered to him before using Jason’s comb to try and calm down his hair. It’s not as unruly as Jason’s, never has been, but it has gotten long again while he’s been imprisoned, and needs tucking back behind his ears to keep it out of his face when they leave the lodge.

Jason has his duffel bag as they walk to the plane. Dick, on the other hand, has nothing, and he thinks suddenly, brightly of home. His apartment in Bludhaven, and all the possessions he kept therein.

He really hopes he gets to go back there soon.

“You want something to read?” Jason offers him, after takeoff, anticipating the many long hours of boredom ahead if he doesn’t.

“Depends,” Dick says, lying smoothly, “What’ve you got?”

The battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ comes out, alongside the German fairy tales. Dick spends a minute pretending to debate between them, before opting for the former. Mostly because he’s not sure his brain’s up to translating another language at the moment, more than any real interest.

“Guess I should finally see what all the Mr. Darcy fuss is about,” he says jokingly to Jason, leaning back in his seat and turning to the first page.

Jason blinks, “You’ve never read it?”

“Nope. Thought about watching the movie once or twice, but…” he flaps his hands, “No rest for the wicked. Not time to watch or read anything either.”

“Dick,” Jason says, looking exasperated, “You’ve just been in prison for three months.”

“And there were like thirteen seasons of _Supernatural_ I had to catch up on first, you can’t expect me to do everything at once.”

He gets a soft snort of amusement for his trouble, “Just shut up and read. By the time we land, you’ll be crying at me for not getting to it sooner.”

“We’ll see, little wing,” Dick says, smiling, “We’ll see.”

The flight goes smoothly, and the book is all right, for the most part. Not along the lines of Dick’s usual choice of genre when it comes to entertainment (and not what he’d have picked out as Jason’s either, if you’d asked him a day earlier), but definitely not bad. He gets wrapped up enough in Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s romance enough that he both internally cheers when she gives it to him straight and is heartily relieved when everything turns out okay for them in the end, though perhaps not quite enough to understand why everyone makes such a big fuss about the novel in general.

Thankfully, Jason doesn’t seem to hold it against him when he voices this opinion, though he does still attempt to explain it to him at length during the ride in a rental car from the private airfield they landed in to where they’ll be staying the rest of their time here.

This, he realises, is the side of Jason he never saw before he died. The side Alfred always spoke of with quiet pride, and Bruce refused to, out of grief. The side that wasn’t an angry, dangerous teenager, but a passionate young man, clever, and always hungry to learn. This is the boy who had dozens of books scattered around his bedroom, went above and beyond when it came to schoolwork, and managed to make Bruce smile on the anniversary of the worst day of his life.

This Jason isn’t a suit in a memorial case, or a cautionary tale to be trotted out for the younger generations of bats. He’s a real, complex and living human being, as hungry and driven for justice as the rest of them, even if he’s wandered off the beaten path a little, and it makes Dick all the more determined to somehow draw him back.

“Alfred never talked much about England, did he?” he says, when Jason’s Jane Austen rant is finished (leaving Dick knowing more about the early advancement of feminist literature than he ever thought he would). “Seems strange in hindsight. I wonder why.”

Jason immediately goes quiet, and he keeps his eyes fixated on the road for a good minute before admitting, “He did sometimes, to me. I used to hang out with him in the kitchen a lot. Helped him cook, watched old movies… Mostly stories about when he was an actor in London.”

“Yeah? Never made more sense how good he is at coming up with disguises for us than after I found that out.” Dick smiles, “Or how he always has a Shakespeare quote for every occasion.”

“That last part’s just being well read, Dickface,” Jason says. Then, hesitantly, he adds, “... how is he, anyway?”

“Alfred?” Jason nods. “He’s good. Well, as good as anyone can be running around after the likes of us. Got a little bit greyer, lost a bit more hair, but… he’s good.” Dick watches him a moment, “He misses you, same as all of us have.”

Jason’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel, but he also doesn’t reject the idea. “I… miss him, too. Sometimes.” he admits.

“You know, if you wanted to see him, I’m sure he’d be—”

“No!” Jason snaps, head whipping around to look at Dick for a brief minute before turning back to the road, “I told you before, I can’t go back there. I _can’t_.”

“Because of Bruce?” he asks, cautiously.

Jason’s nostrils flare as his jaw tightens. “I died,” he says, “I was murdered, and he did _nothing_.”

“He grieved for you, Jay,” Dick says softly, “He’s never stopped grieving over you.”

“He stopped long enough to get a replacement!” Jason sneers, sharp enough to make Dick’s breath catch, “What, did you think I wouldn’t know all about the shiny new Robin?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Dick replies, gathering himself, “Not the way you’re thinking.”

They’re driving along a pleasant country road now. Dry stone walls either side preceding an open spread of green rolling fields beyond, where sheep calmly amble about under the weak autumn sunshine. All of it feels very much at odds to the changing mood in the car now.

“Yeah?” Jason asks harshly, “Then how was it?”

“Bruce didn’t go looking for a new Robin, it was Tim who came to us. Not even because he wanted the job, but because he could see how much of a mess Bruce had become since you died. He was losing it, Jay, going out night after night, never taking a break, no matter how tired he was or how badly he got hurt. I didn’t see it myself, not at first, I was too busy with the Titans, but Tim… Tim saw it. How the grief was destroying him, a little more each day. He actually came to me first, begged me to go back to being Robin at Bruce’s side before he got himself killed, but I…”

“You couldn’t.”

“No,” Dick says, grimacing, “I couldn’t.” He’s glad to know Jason’s listening to him, even if the look of cruel scepticism has yet to leave his face. “I’d grown beyond being Robin, being Batman’s sidekick. For me to try and step back into that role wouldn’t have been good for either of us.”

“So he took it upon himself instead.”

“More or less,” Dick taps his fingers against his thighs, and grimaces as Jason takes the next right a little too sharply at the sat nav’s insistence. That he has the documentation to prove he has a licence to any authorities that might try to pull them over, Dick doesn’t doubt, but whether anyone ever had, as a matter of fact, ever taught Jason how to drive properly at some point… well, that was entirely up for debate. Especially in a country that drives on the left, as opposed to the right. “He worked out early on, along with all our identities, that Gotham needed Batman, but Batman? He needs a Robin.”

“Bullshit,” Jason spits back, “That’s bullshit. The only thing Bruce needs is someone to kick him into realising his whole crusade for justice is nothing more than a sham. A useless smokescreen for his own issues. If he’d really wanted to make a difference, he would have killed the Joker himself years ago, not waited for you to do it.”

“Jason—”

“I died, and he did _nothing_. Then he lets some new kid throw on my old duds like nothing even happened. It’s fucked up, Dick!”

“Jason, just listen to me, please, you have to—!”

“No!” Jason slams on the brakes at an intersection, waiting to pull out so he can glare at him, “No, Dick. I’m not listening. He threw you in jail for doing the right thing, and you’re still trying to defend him. _No_.”

“I had to be there, Jay,” he says, almost (but not quite) telling the truth, “I killed someone. Regardless of who it was, I still took a life. I can’t be above the law just because I’m his son.”

“We’ve always been above the law, idiot,” Jason snaps, “Isn’t that how it works? We do what the police can’t. No warrants, no court orders; justice above all else.”

He’s failing again, Dick realises. Screwing up once more on making his point. He knows he’s right, of course he is, but Jason takes and twists his every word with the full on determination of a fanatic. Rage is driving him more than reason, and Dick has no idea how to combat that just yet, beyond simply being there.

“It’s not the same,” he tries once more, only for Jason to violently shake his head.

“Either you’re on my side in this or you’re not, Dick.” he says, pressing down the accelerator again, “And if you’re not, you can just get out right here and make your own way. I’ve already done my part by getting you out.”

Dick breathes in deeply. Patience, he tells himself, he just has to have patience.

“Of course, I’m on your side,” he responds, reaching between them for a moment to touch Jason’s shoulder, “But you have to know, Jay, whatever you have planned, I won’t help you hurt Bruce.”

Jason flinches slightly under his hand, and his lips purse tight, “I know. And I’m not going to ask you to, but everything else...” He looks at him again, an edge of wild desperation in his gaze, “We can make a difference, Dick. Together, you and I, we really could.”

“I know,” he answers, looking back to the road. The stone walls, hedgerows and sheep, “I know, Jay.”

_That’s what I’m afraid of._

 

* * *

 

The place they’re staying at turns out to be a holiday cottage, tucked away between the fold of two hills, and about two miles out from the nearest village.

It’s a smart choice, in terms of location. A hotel or even a bed and breakfast has staff at all hours to notice their comings and goings, but a simple house like this is isolated from any watchful eyes. The only thing to worry about is a single security camera perched on the garage, but a quick inspection shows that it’s not linked up to any external network. Probably, the owner had it put there just a visual deterrent to thieves, rather than out of any actual need for surveillance on the place.

The inside is modestly decorated, with a few kitsch details here and there that Dick guesses are supposed to give the impression of traditional English country living. Antlers on the wall, a decorative teapot on the mantelpiece, and horseshoes hanging over every door for good luck.

On impulse, Dick reaches up to touch one of them with the tips of his fingers. God knows he could use a little bit of luck right now, what with the situation he’s in.

“Okay,” Jason says, dropping his duffel bag down onto the floor in the living room, “Everything seems secure. I’m going to head out to buy some groceries. See if I can’t get you some other clothes, too.”

“Other clothes would be great,” Dick nods, “You want me to come with?”

“No,” Jason says, a little too quickly for his liking. “The whole Justice League is probably out looking for you right now. It’s best we keep you away from any busy public areas for a while; facial recognition software is a bitch.”

It’s not at all the answer Dick wanted, but Jason’s logic is too solid for him to argue right now. At least from his perspective.

“Fine,” he says, “Be careful, though, okay?”

Jason blinks, then rolls his eyes, “Yes Dick, I’ll be careful going grocery shopping. Jeez, relax. We’re in the middle of Surrey, not Gotham.”

“I know, I know,” he responds. Dick runs his fingers back through his hair, “Guess it’s still pretty new to me, having you back. Sometimes I just feel like I’m going to blink and you’ll be… well…”

 _Gone_.

Regardless of whether he actually says the word or not, Jason hears it. He takes a step forward, before stopping with his hands clenched into fists against his sides. His expression is one of grim determination and stubbornness both.

“I’m not a ghost, Dick,” he replies, “Not an apparition, or a hallucination. I’m here, I’m _real_ , and I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again.”

“Not even grocery shopping?” he jokes weakly, and it’s worth it to see the exasperation on Jason’s face after.

“You know what I mean.” Jason shakes his head, “Just… try to amuse yourself for a while. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”

“Sure thing, Jay,” Dick taps his foot against the floorboards for a moment as he watches him head back to the front door, “Hey…”

“Yeah?” Jason looks back at him, one hand on the door frame after he’s opened it.

“Bring me back some chocolate? Alfred always said the British stuff kicked the ass of Hershey’s. I want to find out if that’s actually true.”

Jason snorts at him, “Idiot. Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” Dick smiles, holding the expression until the door shuts and he hears the sound of the car engine starting up again outside. Only then does he step back, leaning against the nearby wall and letting his head hang downwards.

A couple hours… Well, it’ll give him some time to think, at least, and god knows he needs it, after the last 24 hours’ events. He needs a plan, a real one. Not to just keep flying by the seat of his pants on hope and some vague desire to bring Jason home again.

He just needs to think.

 

* * *

 

When Jason returns home again, it’s to find Dick sitting in front of the cottage’s television, watching some British game shows and very much not thinking.

He’d tried, of course. Absolutely, he’d tried. But it had only taken five minutes for it to hit Dick all over again how tired he was, and so he’d sat down in the front of the TV, intending to let his brain rest half an hour before getting back to it. Only then he’d blinked, and the hands of the clock on the wall had already moved far past where they should be.

“You okay?” Jason asks him, eyebrows raised at where a group of people are taking turns attending dinner parties held by each other on the screen, apparently with the goal of winning money by the end of the week for whoever has the best one.

Dick manages to nod slowly, “Yeah, think so. Just jet lag hitting me, I think. How about you? How was shopping?”

“Fine,” Jason walks over to him with a sizable carrier bag in hand, “Got enough food to last us the next week, and found a charity shop with some clothes for you.”

“Charity shop?” Dick repeats.

“Uh huh, like Goodwill. Don’t worry, though, I went light on the spandex, as much as I know you love the eighties.”

“Ha ha,” Dick says, deadpan as he reaches out to take it from him and look at the contents, “I see you’re still a brat.”

“Something had to survive the grave, might as well be my sense of humour.”

Jason drops to sit on the couch next to him, and Dick tries not to show how much, even lightly meant, that comment stings. “That all you got?”

“Mostly,” Jason says, a touch evasively. “There was this, too.”

He holds up a chocolate bar between them, clad in a shiny purple wrapper.

Dick’s eyes light up at the sight of it. “Wanna share?” he asks.

Jason shrugs, “Sure, why not.”

Abandoning the clothes for now (not all bad, if a bit plain, from what Dick can see), he takes the chocolate from Jason, unwraps the packaging, and neatly snaps it in half.

“Oh my god,” Dick says, after the first bite, “This is heavenly.”

Jason grunts, nibbling at his own, “It’s not bad. Liked the stuff I had in Switzerland better, though.”

“Switzerland?”

“Yeah, spent a week there taking hunting lessons in the mountains after I left Germany. The hot chocolate was to die for.”

 _To die for._ Dick swallows, “Didn’t know hunting was a passion of yours.”

“It’s not really, but tracking skills are useful, and the guy I learned from was the best.”

“Like the demolitions expert you’re going to meet here is the best?”

“Yes,” Jason meets his gaze levelly. There’s a smudge of chocolate caught on the corner of his lip that makes him look years younger than he actually is, and Dick has the unwieldy urge to reach over and wipe it off for him. “Everyone I’ve learned from is.”

“How many teachers have you had?”

“Enough.” Jason shoves the rest of his half of the chocolate into his mouth. Then, in one of the most determined, and least subtle, acts of evasion Dick’s ever seen, looks at the television screen and asks, “Why the hell is that British guy wearing a sombrero and waving around maracas?”

Dick doesn’t even bother biting back his sigh. One day soon, he’s going to get a straight answer out of Jason, but it appears that today is not that day.

“He’s hosting a Mexican-themed dinner party, I think it’s supposed to be his idea of entertainment.”

“Jesus, isn’t their television supposed to be better than ours?”

“So I’ve heard, I haven’t really been paying attention so far, though.”

“Hm,” Jason sucks on his teeth, before idly wiping his mouth clean himself. “Kind of makes me want tacos.”

Dick stares at him for a moment, then abruptly bursts out laughing. It’s not even that what he just said is particularly funny, just that he’s needed something to laugh about today, and Jason’s inappropriate response to a man on television’s equally inappropriate depiction of Mexican culture is apparently it.

“You’re terrible,” he says, trying to stop himself from giggling. “Tell me you can actually make us tacos now. Please.”

Jason’s lips have curved up in a smile of his own, “Sorry, but no. I wasn’t exactly thinking about it when I went shopping.”

“And here you told me you wanted to be better than Batman,” Dick titters, now having to reach up and wipe the moisture out of the corners of his eyes.

“I already am! Bruce would never be caught dead near a kitchen. Or hell, not even near a grocery store.”

“Only because Alfred would never let him!”

“Or you,” Jason shoots back, openly grinning now, “Don’t think I never heard about the scrambled eggs incident, big bird.”

“Hey! In my defence, I was twelve and unsupervised.”

“You left a _fork_ in the microwave. Christ, I knew not to do that from the time I was six,” Jason rolls his eyes, “And I was never supervised.”

Dick laughs again, though it’s a little quieter this time. “Sorry, chef. I’ll never do it again, chef.”

“Yeah, because I’m never letting you near a kitchen either.” Jason shakes his head, “Moron.”

“Brat.”

For a minute, they’re smirking at each other, and everything feels warm and natural. The way Dick always wished it had with Jason before; the way it does when he and Tim hang out together, able to bandy about insults carelessly and without worry of anyone taking any real offence.

Then, out of nowhere, the smile drops from Jason’s face, and he looks suddenly uncomfortable as he rips his eyes away from him.

“Well,” he says, “As fun as this reminiscing has been, I guess I should stop distracting you and actually let you go through those new clothes.”

“Jay,” Dick quietly says, “It’s fine. I can look at them later, if you want to keep talking we can—”

“I’m going to go do another run of the perimeter,” Jason says brusquely, “Just in case.”

He stands up, but before he can actually go anywhere Dick takes a risk and reaches out to catch his wrist, “Jay,” he says seriously, “I mean it. If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

He can feel Jason’s eyes boring into him when he says that, the full weight of unimaginable traumas and horrors barely held at bay by thin layers of skin, blood and bone. That Jason needs to talk is a reality Dick doesn’t doubt, not when he’d learned long ago himself that no one can get by alone in this world. That’s why he’s making the offer, but underneath it all, he has to admit to himself he’s also a little afraid of what he might hear if Jason actually does take him up on it.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it’s clear that Jason is still not ready to do so, as he eventually tugs his hand free of Dick’s grip and, without another word, leaves the room.

Well, Dick tells himself as small consolation, the important part is he knows the opportunity is there if and when he’s ready to change his mind.

Now sighing, he picks the bag of clothing back up and opens it to take a better look at what Jason’s bought him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet points to anyone who recognises the TV show Dick was watching this chapter XD


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later, Dick is of the firm opinion that he doesn’t like Shurik Ivanko, the Russian demolition and bomb expert Jason’s come to England to meet, one bit.

“You don’t have to come,” Jason had said to him, more than once before leaving, but Dick had insisted on joining him. Call it protective instinct, but he wants to see the kind of men and women Jason has been learning new skills from. The kind of people Talia thought it was appropriate to have him be in contact with.

Just as sure as the sun rises each morning, Ivanko is a scumbag. The kind who’ll do work for anyone so long as they can pay him. As Jason told Dick, he’s done work for the IRA, the PLO, as well as a fair number of Aryan supremacy groups in Germany. There’s probably more, too, but those are the only ones he names.

“Isn’t he the kind of person you’re supposed to want to take down?” Dick asks Jason, at the end of the first day of training. Ivanko had reacted to his presence with suspicion and wariness, at first, at least until Jason made a lowkey comment about remembering who was paying him. Then the man had shut right up, and for the rest of the hours he was showing Jason the intricacies of making pipe bombs and other horrendous devices, Ivanko had done his level best to pretend Dick didn’t exist.

It’s a feeling that was almost mutual, except for the fact that Dick hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the sight of Jason’s hands, smooth and relatively unscarred compared to how they should, buried in the wires of explosives.

“Yeah, of course he is,” Jason answers, “And I might yet, depending on things go. But first I need to learn from him. He knows so much more than Bruce was ever willing to teach us.”

“About killing people?” Dick says tartly.

“About building bombs,” Jason replies, eyes narrowing, “And if I know how to build them that means I also know how to defuse them, something that saves lives, _Dick_. We’ve already been over this.”

As much as he doesn’t like it, Dick does have to admit that’s actually good point. Not that he’ll ever say so out loud.

“Well, what about that comment you made about the one paying him?” he asks, “He actually looked scared for a moment there when you said that. Just who is this private investor of yours, Jason?”

“Dick—”

“You said you’d tell me when we got here, remember?” he reminds him, “You promised.”

Jason stops at the gate to their cottage. The sun is starting to sink low over the horizon, and the remaining leaves on the nearby trees cast dappled light down on his face.

“Fine, I guess I did,” he says, “But you can’t freak out on me, okay?”

“The fact that you’re even saying that to me means it’s someone I should freak out about,” Dick replies, clenching his fingers inside the pockets of his new-used jacket.

“Maybe,” Jason replies, “But I have it in hand. I need you to believe me on that.”

“Jason,” Dick says tiredly, “Just tell me who it is.”

“Talia al Ghul.”

He might have known it for days, but just hearing Jason say her name out loud is enough to send the incredulity running back through Dick.

“Talia al Ghul,” he repeats, “Talia _al Ghul_?!”

“Dick…” Jason sighs.

“What the hell are you thinking, Jason?!” he demands, “You know what she’s like! You can’t possibly believe she’s actually just helping you out of the goodness of her heart.”

“Of course not,” Jason replies, leaning back against the stone wall next to the gate and crossing his arms across his chest defensively. But unlike before, this time he meets Dick’s gaze squarely. “I’m not stupid, Dick. I know she’s trying to play me; she’s got her own goals and agendas, she always has. But that doesn’t mean I should just reject what she has to offer.”

“Yes, it does! She’s using you, Jason. I don’t know exactly how, or in what way, but she has to be. That’s what she does!”

Jason sighs, “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Dick casts his arms out, making a vague gesture at nothing simply to try and get some of the nervous energy out of his chest, “How the hell did you even get mixed up with her in the first place?”

The light changes, as the sun disappears further beneath the horizon, and so a shadow crosses Jason’s face in more ways than one.

“It was after I came back,” he says, arms tightening their hold on each other, “From the dead. After I dug myself out of my…” Jason shivers, and Dick does, too, at the missing word. “Thing is, Dick, I didn’t tell you the whole truth about it the other night.”

Dick bites his lip, “What is the truth, Jason?”

“When I…” he closes his eyes, pained, “I wasn’t… wasn’t whole. I wasn’t… cognitive, is the word I guess. Call it lasting brain damage from that costumed freak beating me; my lights were on, but nobody was home. I got myself out of the coffin, but after that? I was pretty much just a zombie, wandering around Gotham with no understanding of where, or even who, I was.”

“Is that…” Dick feels a chill creeping up his spine, “Is that why you didn’t come home after?”

“It’s part of it.” Jason answers, unwilling to bend that far. “Point is, I was living on the streets a good long while afterwards, surviving on instinct and little else. I don’t remember all of it, but the part I do remember is that eventually she found me and took me in.”

“Talia did?”

“Yeah,” Jason nods, “She fed me, clothed me. Did her best to heal me, as long as she could.”

That explains some things, but not, Dick thinks, all of it, “What do you mean, as long as she could?”

“I mean, for as long as Ra’s would put up with her wasting her time on a brain dead kid, just because he used to run around with Batman.” Jason replies, bitterly. “Which was about a year, from what I’ve been told.”

“But you did get better,” he points out, “You wouldn’t be standing here talking to me now, if you hadn’t.”

Jason blinks slowly, something ticking over inside his head before he says, in a far too mild tone, “Only because she put me in the Lazarus Pit.”

It’s like someone’s thrown a bucket of ice water over him. Dick feels frozen in the moment, as the last syllable of the word ‘pit’ seems to echo in his ears for a small eternity.

“She what…?” he eventually croakes.

“Threw me in the Lazarus Pit. It fixed me up when nothing else could, right back and screaming to lucidity.” Jason continues to watch, studying him intently, “Otherwise I’d still be a dribbling idiot locked up in some League safehouse somewhere, and you’d still be rotting in jail.”

Dick’s teeth find his lip, biting down. An old habit for when he’s anxious or frustrated, it’s become quite prevalent again the last couple of days, and so this time, he absolutely tastes blood. “Are you sure that’s all it did?”

Jason straightens up from the wall. His eyes are as hard and sharp as chips of flint. “I’m not crazy, Dick. I know perfectly well who I am, and what I’m doing.”

“But Ra’s—”

“Ra’s has been taking dips in those things for centuries. I was in one for about ten seconds, I’m _fine_.”

Dick bites his lip again. It’s like he’s circling a proximity mine, get too close, and Jason will blow up on him. He can’t bring himself to believe what he just said is really true, though. The Pit might have fixed Jason, physically at any rate, but no miracle ever comes for free. That’s just the way it works, and while Dick may not know Jason well enough yet to spot all his tells, he’s fairly certain that, in this at least, he’s lying.

“And that’s why you trust her,” he forces himself to divert from what he really wants to say, “Because she did that?”

“Because she took me in, cared for me, and then risked her own life to heal me? _Yes_ , Dick, that’s why.” Turning, Jason kicks open the gate and steps through, “No matter what other intentions she might have, she’s never been anything other than supportive of my goals. Unlike some other people I can name in my life.”

Dick can’t restrain his sigh as he follows him, “I’m only saying what I am because I care about you, Jason.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it more if you could start trusting me instead.”

“I do trust you,” he says, then, voice hardening, “I’d trust you with my life if I had to. But love and trust doesn’t mean blindly accepting everything you tell me and never asking questions. Especially when you refuse to give me any information otherwise.”

“I’m not—”

“You are, Jason. Everything you’ve told me since you broke me out, I’ve had to pull and pry from you. It’s almost like you’re ashamed or something.”

Jason’s back stiffens, “I’m not ashamed!” he snaps, rounding on him.

“Then why can’t you just be open with me?” Dick squares his shoulders as their eyes meet. The fact that Jason is now of a height, and god, a little broader than him, has been throwing him off less and less as the days go on, but moments like this force him to confront it all over again.

Jason is alive. Jason has aged. Jason is not as he once was.

Not entirely.

“Because while you may have killed the Joker, Dick,” he says, cool and calmly enough to throw him off, “That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what an uptight prick you can be, or that I’d be stupid enough to think you’ll have let go of that moral code of yours entirely even if you did loosen it enough to get rid of one maniac. Just because I saved you doesn’t mean I want to be judged by you.”

The pain from his bitten lip turns acute as Dick reaches up to rub his face, “You’re not even giving me a chance.” he says.

“I’m giving you plenty,” Jason responds, “I let you come along today, didn’t I?”

“You did.” He admits. Except then the moment Dick voiced concerns about Ivanko, his hackles went back up, which loops right back around to his growing opinion that Jason’s not wanting to be judged is looking an awful lot more like fear of judgement.

“Look, Dick,” Jason is saying, while he’s thinking this, “Like I said before, either you’re in this with me or you’re not, and if you’re not…” he points back out away from the cottage, “There’s the open road.”

“This being your plan to be better than Batman,” Dick replies, ignoring the part about leaving, “What exactly does that mean anyway? What’s the plan for when you’re done learning from all these bad men? What do we do then?”

Jason’s hand grips the door handle, “We go back to Gotham, and we show Bruce how to do the job right. No more second chances, no more half-measures. No more dead kids just because someone couldn’t pull the trigger.”

Killing the Gotham rogues. That’s what he’s talking about. Anyone who’s ever hurt anyone else out of greed or cruelty and gotten away with it.

“Bruce will try to stop you,” he says, hollowly.

“Of course he will. That’s what all this is for, so I’ll be ready for him. So I can prove to him how wrong he’s been all this time.” Jason looks back at Dick as he opens the door, and he tilts his head in amused understanding at the resultant look on his face, “Oh, don’t worry, big bird, I’m not planning on killing him. I got over that part of my anger long ago.”

“But you’ll hurt him.”

“Only if I have to.”

Dick laughs, slightly hysterical, “ _Jason_ , you’ll hurt him just by being there. For him to know you’ve been alive, that you didn’t come home…”

“That’s what he gets for not avenging and replacing me. I _died_ , Dick. Stands to rights he should suffer, too.”

“He already has, Jason. Every single day since you’ve been gone.”

Jason stares back at him from the doorway, and his voice is cruel in ways Dick has never known before, “Not enough.”

“Jay—”

“Look, I’m not asking you to be involved in that part, Dick. I know you’d never be able to do it, no matter what he’s done to you. All I’m asking you is to have my back with everything else.”

“I…” Dick’s hands feel suddenly clammy, and there’s sweat pouring down his back. His lip now hurts with a pain so acute, it’s almost blinding. “... I don’t know if I can do that, Jason.”

“Well, you better figure it out, then. I’m not going to wait forever.” Jason replies, “You’ve got until I’m done with Ivanko to decide.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then that’s where we part ways.”

“Aren’t you…” Dick steps after him, “Aren’t you worried I’d tell Bruce about you, if we did?”

Jason shakes his head. “Whether he knows or not, it won’t make a difference. I’m not going to let anything stop me from doing what I have planned, Dick. Believe that, even if you believe nothing else.”

Dick does. Wholeheartedly, in that moment. He believes him, and again, is hit by the troubling question of what the hell he’s supposed to do about it. What choices he’s supposed to make to turn Jason around.

And now, unlike before, he also has a time limit, which only makes things worse.

Silently cursing Talia, the Joker, and as well as his own vindictive temper for getting him into this, Dick shuts his mouth and follows Jason into the house.

 

* * *

 

They don’t talk much over the course of the following days, and when they do, it’s fraught, caught up on underlying tension. Dick is no closer to either making a decision or figuring out a solution to his problem, while Jason is terribly stubborn about everything he does try in the meantime. Any attempt Dick makes to debate his plans, or his opinion of Bruce’s actions in the wake of his death, is met with stony silence, and so on it goes.

He stays out of Jason’s lessons with Ivanov as well, too concerned that he’ll end up saying something honest the longer he hangs around the man. But it worries him. Oh, how it worries him, every time Jason comes back from those lessons with a particularly intense or thoughtful look on his face.

Yet… there are also good moments between them during the week. Moments where, whether for just a few seconds or an hour, they forget everything else that’s going on to laugh or joke, or engage in a friendly debate over what to have for dinner. Jason teases Dick over his too-long hair, and his growing five o’clock shadow until Dick finally borrows his razor to shave, and they both engage in playful mockery over some of the more out there shows they find on the television.

They’re nice, those moments. No mentions of Bruce, the Joker or Talia. Just them, hanging out the way they always should have before, if only Dick hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own problems at the time. He even gets Jason to come out running with him, after some encouragement, and together they explore the surrounding countryside, choosing paths at random while getting their daily exercise in.

If only they were here on an actual vacation, he thinks, instead of the world’s deadliest scholarship. Dick may not know Jason well, but he’s sure that he would love to get the chance to actually get to know the country he’s in — to visit the local restaurants, castles and museums. But any insinuation he tries to make towards doing so is met with the same resistance as everything else. Jason is here in the pursuit of a single, solitary goal, and despite Dick’s best efforts to the contrary, he won’t be distracted from it.

Then, late one night, Dick wakes up to the sound of screaming.

He’s awake before he knows it, flipping out of his bed and onto the floor. There’s no thought about it, no hesitation as he runs towards the source of that scream. With one hand, Dick flings open his bedroom door before bounding across the dark hallway beyond to the one opposite.

There’s no lock on it. Not that he would have let such a thing stop him, anyway. Dick is wholly focused on the sound of that screaming, and in no time at all he’s there at the side of Jason’s bed, reaching out to calm him.

“Jay!” he calls, “Jason, it’s okay! You’re dreaming, Jay; wake up.”

It’s not easy. At some point during the nightmare that has taken hold of him, Jason has tangled himself deeply in his blankets, and during the process of trying to wake him, Dick takes a knee to the stomach for his trouble, as well as a glancing blow to the side of his cheek. The pain is nothing, though, in the moment, just a passing distraction as he focuses entirely on easing Jason’s distress.

“Jason,” Dick says again, softer this time as he gently grasps Jason’s wrists, stopping his clawing movements just long enough to pull the blanket free of them, “Jason, it’s me. It’s Dick. Wake up.”

Removing the blanket seems to help, as does the lighter tone of voice. Dick releases Jason’s wrists just as he sees his eyelids start to flutter, placing one hand instead on his forehead to smooth back the thick curls of his hair. “Little wing…”

“... Dick?”

His name comes out hoarse and slurred from Jason’s lips, which makes sense considering he was screaming just a moment ago. Dick forces a smile onto his lips as Jason’s eyes open, blinking slowly in a way that highlights the thickness of his eyelashes, as well as the dark circles blooming underneath.

“Hey,” he says, continuing to smooth back his hair, “You with me now, Jay?”

“I…” his brow wrinkles, and Dick notices now the sweat that’s beaded at his temples; the white-knuckled grip Jason has on the bedsheets. “I was… dreaming?”

Dick nods, “A nightmare, I think.”

“How did you…”

“I…” he bites his lip, constantly scabbed over from all the abuse it’s taken now, “I heard you screaming. So I ran straight over.”

Jason’s eyes widen, “Oh.”

“Oh,” Dick echoes, continuing to pet his hair almost absently, “You want to tell me what it was about?”

Jason doesn’t immediately answer. He still seems dazed, not quite awake yet, as he considers the question. “I think I was…”

His body stiffens, and then he’s moving. Pushing himself up against the headboard and ducking his head out from under Dick’s hand. Dick lets him go without a fight, sensing how in this moment, attempting to do anything less than allow Jason to move how he wants to would only end in disaster.

As he watches, Jason pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Unlike Dick, who only wears boxer shorts to bed, he’s practically fully dressed, clad in a baggy t-shirt and loose pyjama pants. They make him look smaller than he actually is. Younger, too.

God, what is Jason now? Seventeen? Eighteen? Still so young to have gone through so much.

“I was digging.”

“Digging?”

“Yeah,” Jason nods, fingers wrapped tight in the excess fabric of his pyjamas, “That or drowning. I couldn’t…” he swallows, “Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. It was… fuck, it was awful.”

Dick bites his lip, feels the scab against his teeth. “You were tangled up in your blanket when I got in here. Maybe that caused it.”

“Maybe,” Jason replies, but his expression is doubtful from what Dick can see of it. The only light in here right now is what manages to filter around the curtains from outside, and given that it’s still the middle of the night…

“Is that all you can remember?” he asks.

Jason’s shoulders hitch, “It’s all I want to.”

Another pang stabs his chest, and Dick wishes he knew what to say or do to make this better for him. To wipe away all the pain Jason carries hidden inside in an instant.

“Do you want me to get you some water?” he asks.

Jason shakes his head, “No.”

“Do you…” Dick looks at the way he’s curled over himself, how vulnerable he seems, and defensive, “... do you want me to leave?”

This time, the answer is a little longer in coming, though more welcome. “... no.”

“Okay,” Dick sucks on his teeth a moment, “Budge up then.”

Shifting over the mattress, he moves to sit next to Jason, mirroring his position by pulling up his knees. They’re not quite touching, but it’s close enough he can feel Jason’s body heat radiating off his skin — giving the illusion of contact without actually crossing that boundary.

“I get nightmares sometimes, too,” he says, “Well, not just sometimes. Oftentimes, the last few months.”

“Haven’t heard you have any since we joined up.” Jason replies, a touch resentfully.

Dick smiles, though it’s entirely without mirth. “Yeah, well, I guess my mind’s been focused on other things.”

“They about the Joker?”

“A lot of them,” Dick admits. “I never wanted to kill anyone, never wanted that weight on my soul — even for someone like him. And it scares me how I did it, how I… lost control. That I had that anger inside of me.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, but keeps watching him from the corner of his eyes, and unexpectedly, Dick finds himself continuing.

“I didn’t plan it, didn’t think about it. There was no forethought to what I did. I’ve always had a temper, I know I have, but most days, I have a good handle on it. I can restrain myself,” His hands shake. “Not that day. He riled me up, played me like a fucking fiddle. Made me think Tim was dead, and then when he used your name… It was like everything went red. All I could think was, not again. Not another one. This monster can’t take another person I love from me. I wanted him hurt, wanted him _dead._ Then the next thing I knew, Tim and Bruce were both there, pulling me back, and he… he was..”

“Dick…”

“Now I can’t help but think that… that if I could lose control like that once, why not again?” his hands shake before he mirrors Jason once more by gripping his knees to control them, “And what if next time it’s not someone like the Joker, what if it’s just someone who pisses me off for no good reason at all…”

Abruptly, he feels the warmth of another hand atop his. Jason’s hand, and when Dick looks, it’s to find Jason watching him in turn, his expression deathly serious.

“I don’t think you could, Dick. I don’t think you could ever hurt someone who doesn’t really deserve it, even if you wanted to. It’s not in your nature.”

“I didn’t think killing was in my nature, but then I went ahead and did it.”

Jason snorts, but it’s not as harsh as it could be, and his hand doesn’t move. “Killing’s part of _human_ nature, big bird. Only difference between us and animals is we got more reasons to do it than hunger.” His grip tightens, “You saved lives by taking his, Dick. That’s all you’ve got to remember.”

“I don’t know how it can be so easy for you.” Dick says helplessly, and hates the touch of wistfulness he hears in his voice as well.

“I don’t know how it can be so hard,” Jason answers, “But it is what it is, I guess. For both of us.”

Dick turns his head down to look at their joined hands, and after a moment, squeezes Jason’s fingers in return. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I came in here to try and make you feel better about your nightmare, but I just made it about me instead.”

“Dick Grayson, making everything all about himself? Perish the thought.” Again, the words aren’t said as harshly as they sound.

He manages a smile, “Brat.”

“If it helps, you actually did take my mind off it.”

Dick looks back up at him. Bizarrely, it does help. “Yeah?” he says, “Well, points for me being self-absorbed, then. You still want me to stay?”

Jason licks lips. A completely subconscious action, Dick thinks, expressing just a small sliver of the conflict within.

“I don’t want you to go.” he eventually says.

“Good, me neither.” Dick leans back against the headboard.

This is nice, the two of them, just sitting together like this. No matter the wider circumstances, it’s nice. Jason’s hand is warm in his, solid, against the wider precipice of a shifting world, and Dick has no intention of letting go of it anytime soon. Not unless Jason tries to pull away from him.

He doesn’t. For at least an hour, he doesn't. And after that? Dick doesn’t know. He falls asleep first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys are a mess. ~~Just the way I like them.~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This is the last pre-written chapter I have of this story to share (hence why I delayed posting it a little), so just a heads up that the next one may take longer to appear. But in the meantime, enjoy!

A few days later, Dick comes back from one of his countryside runs to find an unwelcome guest sitting at the cottage’s dining table.

“Richard,” Talia greets him coolly.

“Talia,” he replies, hoping the full force of his distaste for her comes through in every word, “Nice to see you, again. You come to check up on Jason?”

“On both of you.” she replies. “Unfortunately.”

His lips twitch. Whatever Jason may have said to try and placate her in the meantime, she’s still plenty pissed that he’s here.

Good.

Walking over to the fridge, he opens it and pulls out a bottle of orange juice from inside. Then, with a deliberate mind to offend her, unscrews the lid and takes a very long drink directly from it. Long enough that he hears the impatient tap of her exquisitely manicured nails against the table’s surface by the time he’s finished.

“Are you done?” she asks.

“Maybe,” Dick says, playing with the idea of repeating the action just to piss her off further, but the sudden hit of so much cold liquid is already doing unpleasant things to his stomach, so he decides to lay off. “What do you want, Talia?”

“To know what you’re doing here, of course.”

“Spending quality family time with my little brother,” he answers, glibly, “It’s been ever so long since I last saw him, after all.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “You think you are funny.”

“I know I’m funny,” Dick answers, “And I also know you’re a vicious, lying bitch.”

“I’m not the only one,” Unruffled by his insults, she leans forward across the table. Only now does Dick notice the cup of coffee she has in front of her, and idly he wonders how many men she has hiding out around the cottage right now, ready to be called on at a moment’s notice.

It’s been a while since he last had a good fight, or indeed any fight at all. He thinks he’d enjoy it if she did.

“Allow me to answer the question for you; you are here, not because you truly wished to be freed from your prison, Richard, but because you believe that by following him you can win Jason back to your side. My beloved’s side.”

“I don’t know how you can still call Bruce that with a straight face, considering all you’ve done to him.” Dick retorts sharply. “You hid him from us, Talia. Hid Jason, for _years_. You know how much he means to Bruce, what it did to him to lose Jason, and yet you never bothered to let him know his son was alive?” He shakes his head. “Fuck you.”

“Jason made the decision not to return to Bruce on his own.”

“Without any influence from you at all, I’m sure.”

Talia lifts the cup to her lips, taking a delicate sip. “I gave him access to the information he needed to know, that’s all. If just one of you had bothered to avenge him earlier, perhaps he would be at Wayne Manor even now.”

Dick slams the orange juice down on the counter. “And what about before that?! What about before you put him in the Lazarus Pit, huh? When you found him wandering the streets of Gotham, unable to remember his own name or even _talk_. Why didn’t you bring him back home to us then?” He sees her fingers tighten slightly around the handle of the cup and knows he’s caught her out. “Yeah, that’s right, he told me about that. He told me about everything.”

“Did he? Somehow, I very much doubt that.”

He ignores the bait. “Answer me, Talia. Why didn’t you bring him home then, if you care so much about Bruce?”

She puts the cup down, folding her arms. “Simply put, I had hoped to fix him first.”

“And yet when you did—”

“When I did, I had come to care for Jason in his own right, and believed he should be allowed to make his own choice with all the necessary information of what had happened since his death made available to him.” she glares.

“And this plan he has, to learn from the deadliest people he can find, to be better than Batman, you didn’t have any influence on that?”

“I gave him access to his teachers, the funds necessary to accomplish his goals, but the choice and plan was his from the beginning.” Talia purses her lips, “And it was going swimmingly, until your little hiccup with the Joker. Who knew you had such a thing in you, Richard.”

Hiccup. How typical of her to phrase it in such a way. Like it was nothing, a blip, instead of a life changing event for him and everyone around him. Dick shakes his head, already tired of dealing with her.

“What’s your game, Talia?” he asks, “What are you hoping to get out of this?”

“Nothing,” is her answer, “But the satisfaction of having helped Jason become the man he was always destined to be. Greater than Batman; greater than all of you combined.”

“You want to make him a murderer.”

“I want him to make a difference. A _real_ difference. To not repeat the same foolish mistakes of his elders.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Of course you do not,” she replies, smiling smugly, “You hate me. You always have, and you will never trust a word I say. But your biases do not change facts, and neither do mine.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I wonder how Jason would feel if he knew as I did. That you did not come with him for any reason other than to manipulate him yourself.”

Dick clenches his fists, “That’s not true. I didn’t—”

“He is blinded by the fact you killed the Joker; unnecessarily grateful, for what was in truth an accident on your part. But I am not blind, Richard. I know you would take that death back in a heartbeat if you could, despite all the pain the Joker has caused both you and the people you love.”

“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Her red lips twitch, “No? You have no regrets then? You are content to know that creature died at your hands?”

The muscles in his hands tighten even further, until Dick feels his nails start to cut into his own skin. “Of course I have regrets, but the past is the past, Talia. We can’t change it, only move forward. That’s what I’m attempting to do with Jason; help him, and myself, move on.”

“How selfless,” Talia shakes her head, “It will not work. He is committed, Richard. You have no idea how much, nor how dangerous he already is. All you will accomplish with this endeavour is to cause the both of you more pain. Take my advice; leave now, return to your self-inflicted punishment, and allow Jason to continue following his path alone.”

She’s not even finished speaking before Dick is shaking his own head. “No, I won’t abandon him. I can’t, and nothing you can say will ever change my mind on that.”

“Perhaps nothing I can say to _you_.”

To that, he shrugs, “That’s up to Jason. But so long as he still wants me around, I’m staying. Now,” he places the orange juice back in the fridge, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go take a shower. Try not to let a house land on you on your way out.”

Dick steps out before she can say another word, and as he walks down the hall to the base of the stairs, it’s just in time to see the front door open again and Jason step through. His irritation must still show on his face, because Jason immediately frowns as he shuts the door behind him. “What’s up with you?”

“You’ve got a visitor waiting for you in the kitchen,” he says, jerking his thumb back the way he came, “Don’t worry, she and I didn’t get into a fight — yet.”

“She…” Jason looks down the hall, “Aw, shit.”

“Yep.”

Dick doesn’t say another word as he heads up the stairs, leaving Jason to go talk to Talia alone. Either she’ll convince him of her point of view on Dick’s presence or she won’t, but right now, all he wants is that shower. He’ll deal with the rest of it later.

 

* * *

 

Talia takes an hour to leave. More than enough time for Dick to enjoy a long, hot, steaming shower and work very hard on resisting his urge to punch the nearest wall. Talia has a habit of being able to get under his skin even at the best of times, and when she’s deliberately trying to antagonise him…

He wasn’t kidding to Jason about his temper. The way the anger he’s usually so good at burying deep beneath a smile, jokes, and his connection to his friends and family, can occasionally come bubbling to the surface. Usually it takes a lot of stress, a lot of pressure, to make it happen, but when it does, the results are always explosive.

The reason he came to be here at all is a prime example of that.

By the time Jason comes upstairs to find him, Dick has gotten dressed again — in loose, comfortable clothing — and taken a seat at the end of his bed, where he can easily relax and look out the window at the setting sun.

“So,” he says, at the sound of the door opening, “She successfully convince you to get rid of me yet?”

The mattress sinks a little as Jason takes a seat next to him.

“She tried,” he says, “Told me how much of a risk you are; a liability. How you could bring everything I’m working for down around me in a second if you wanted to. But I already knew that, even before I broke you out. Whatever either of you might think, I didn’t take that action spontaneously. Couldn’t have even I wanted to, considering how much security I had to account for first.”

Dick turns his head, feeling where the press of his still-wet hair is now turning clammy against his neck. “Nice to know I mean so much to you.”

“You didn’t deserve to rot away in a jail cell for what you did.”

The compulsion is there again, to tell Jason the whole truth: that he asked for the punishment of a prison sentence. Insisted on it even, when almost everyone else around him would have been happy to close their eyes and shrug the reality of what he did off, simply because of who he did it to. But again, Dick bites the words back, knowing that they would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Instead, he says, “She’s right, though, I am a liability. Bruce may not know you’re alive still, but he and the rest of them are definitely out there hunting for me now.”

“I won’t let them take you back,” Jason says lowly, and there’s something so painfully protective in that, something so genuine, that it crushes Dick’s heart to know he feels that way.

God knows, he doesn’t deserve it.

“I don’t exactly want to go back,” he replies, and it’s absolutely the truth. Every day locked in the cell had had his figurative feathers moulting. “But you against the Justice League and Titans… it’s only a matter of time, Jay.”

“I _won’t_ let them take you back.” he says again, harsher this time. Then looks up at Dick, “And it wouldn’t just be me, right?”

Dick bites his lip, abusing it again, “I don’t want to fight against my friends and family.”

“Me neither,” Jason narrows his eyes, “But it doesn’t change the fact that I will.”

And there, oh there, is something Dick can’t help but latch onto.

“What if there’s another way, though?” he asks, “If you don’t want to, and I don’t want to… there are other ways, Jay. If you’d just stop and talk to—”

“Talk to Bruce?” Jason cuts him off sharply. “Yeah, that’d really go down well.”

“I still don’t think you understand how deeply he misses you, Jay. How glad he’d be to have you back, no matter the circumstances.”

“And then what? We can have matching cells next to each other?” Jason shakes his head, “I don’t think so. Bruce already had his chance, Dick, and he blew it. If he really missed me, if really _loved_ me, he would’ve…” His breath sounds suddenly ragged in his chest. “What I’m doing now is necessary, for Gotham, for the world; I won’t give it all up just to make him feel better.”

“And what about you, Jason? What about making you feel better?” Dick cuts in, “I know what you said on the plane, and what you’ve told me since then, but surely there’s a part of you that wants more than this. That misses Bruce and Alfred and wants to go home again.”

Jason’s face whitens, highlighting the delicate pattern of freckles that runs across his cheeks.

“Of course there is!” he hisses, “But the problem isn’t with _me,_ Dick. It’s with him. It’s always been with him. His impossible standards, his unwillingness to bend; to consider anyone else’s point of view but his own. You know what Bruce is like, it’s his way or the high way and I can’t… I just can’t go his way anymore. Not after what happened. I saw the truth, and nothing in this world is ever going to make me forget it.”

Without thought, Dick reaches out for him, seeking to take Jason’s hand now the same way he took his the other night, but Jason doesn’t allow it. He pulls his hand away instead, clenching it tight alongside the other in his lap.

Dick sighs, “I just want you to be okay, Jay. I want both of us to be okay. And I worry that everything you’re doing… none of it is going to give you any peace in the end.”

“It’s not about peace, Dick, it’s about doing the right thing.” Jason stares out the window at the darkening horizon; the last vestiges of the day sinking into twilight. “It’s about… about _satisfaction_. About knowing how, at the end of the day, the things I’m doing will keep other kids safe.”

“There are other ways to do that than killing.” he tries, “Ways that don’t involve you having to get blood on your hands.”

“Sure there are,” Jason says, “But none of them are anywhere near as effective.” He turns his head, looks back at him. “There’s always got to be a sacrifice play to make the world a better place, Dick, and this is mine. What I lose — what I’ve already lost, it’ll be worth it. No more revolving doors on killers. No more second chances.”

“The Joker’s already dead, Jay.” Dick’s hands tremble reflexively as he says it.

“There are always more monsters.”

Yes, Dick thinks, there are. But where, oh where, do you draw the line? Where does it end?

“It’s not your responsibility to fix the world,” he says, searching for another angle, “You deserve something better than that.”

Jason smiles at him humorlessly, “Don’t know about that. And anyway, since when has the world ever been about giving me a break?”

“All the more reason why someone needs to try and convince you to take one now.” Dick says, “You’ve been through so much, don’t you ever just want to… I don’t know, stop fighting and enjoy life?”

The smile fades, and Jason seems to be searching his face for something as he asks, “Do you?”

Dick bows his head a little, feeling old exhaustion filter through. “Often.”

“And could you?” Jason presses, “Could you ever step back and leave the fight to someone else?”

Damn it, Dick knows he’s walked himself into another trap of his own making. “... No. No I couldn’t.”

“No,” Jason repeats, “Neither could I.”

“Jay…” Dick realises it’s time to stop pretending, “I have to be honest, I can’t… the Joker was one thing, it happened, and I can’t take it back. I don’t think I want to either, but I can’t… I can’t condone this plan of yours. I don’t think I could be part of it, even as background support.” His shoulders sink, “Talia’s right about me in that respect, one death on my hands can’t change all my beliefs.” He hears Jason breathe in sharply, and quickly follows it up with, “But I don’t want to leave you either. I don’t… Being with you, as hard as it’s been in some ways, it’s also been good.” His eyes search Jason’s green-tinged ones, “Really good, having everything we should have had before.”

Jason is silent, his expression closed off and blank, for a good long while after Dick finishes saying that. What’s going on inside his mind, Dick can’t at all say, but his heart is pounding in his chest waiting for what the result will be. There’s blood on his tongue, and he can hardly breathe.

_Jason, c’mon, please…_

He doesn’t expect the hand on his face, nor the push of a thumb against his mouth.

“You’re biting your lip again,” Jason says, “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Dick replies, meaning it, and all too aware aware of how his lips brush against that thumb as he talks, “Bad habit.”

“I noticed,” The thumb presses harder, and it’s difficult to tell whether that’s a conscious action on Jason’s part or not, “Keep it up and soon you’ll have nothing but a hole there.”

Dick can feel something shifting between them in that moment; a precipice forming, and himself standing on the edge, debating whether to topple over it.

“Look, Dick,” Jason starts to sigh, “I can’t make you be someone you’re not, and like I said before, if you want to leave—”

Dick kisses the pad of his thumb. Slow, deliberate. He kisses it, then kisses it again, aware of how Jason has gone so very, very still now. How he’s not breathing, and his eyes are so very wide in his pale face.

“I don’t want to leave,” he replies, “I’m just not sure if I can stay.”

It’s like they gravitate towards each other, then, pulled in by some inescapable force. Jason’s thumb slips from Dick’s lip as Dick tangles his fingers in his hair, using the hold to drag him forward so their mouths can meet instead. Jason is stiff at first, terribly stiff, but suddenly it’s like the floodgates open. Something in him just _gives_ , and he’s kissing Dick back just as warm and desperate. Dick can feel his hands clutching at his shoulders; the pressure of his body, so very, very alive.

This is a bad idea, he thinks, in what may be his last moment of clarity for the evening. This isn’t something he even knew he wanted until a moment ago, and it won’t solve anything in the long run.

But still, he wants, and judging by the reaction he’s getting, Jason wants, too.

“You smell like smoke,” he gasps, when they break for long enough. His fingers are now carding back through Jason’s hair, teasing out the curls.

Jason, his face bright red, swallows, “Blew up a barn today. And a car.”

“Separately, or at the same time?”

“At the same—whoa!”

Dick smiles, unabashed, as he pushes Jason down onto the bed, then runs his fingers over his cheek. “Keep that up, and there’ll be no barns left in England.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I care.”

Despite the callousness of his words, Jason’s eyes are shining, luminescent green and blue in the last rays of the sun. Dick wants him desperately then, wants to devour him and hold him close. Stop Jason from ever thinking about anything other than being with him ever again, if only that were possible.

It’s not a good solution, not even an okay one. But it’s there, beating in his chest alongside his heart.

“Dick,” Jason is still looking up at him, still waiting, but as the seconds drag on, Dick can see the first warning signs of uncertainty coming over his face. The readying of shields to go back up again.

Not happening, he thinks. Not now. He won’t allow it.

Keeping the smile on his face, Dick leans down and kisses Jason again, stoking the fire inside them both back up and hotter. Then he lets the rest of his weight drop, and after that, neither of them say any more words of consequence for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Dick, no.~~

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/firefright)


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